


The third-life crisis

by AlbieGeorge



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: A musing on Jimmy's ongoing third-life crisis, A quick one shot, Alastair is the sensible one, And why he might have dyed his hair, But I can't edit or not include ridiculous run-on sentences so there you are, M/M, Oh yes and because it's me there's fluff, Silly men being silly, That was supposed to be a drabble, and humour, as always, or an attempt at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 04:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15573300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlbieGeorge/pseuds/AlbieGeorge
Summary: Hair disaster corrected, Jimmy discovers that he's not done with his early mid-life crisis yet.





	The third-life crisis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fruitloopy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fruitloopy/gifts).



> For the ever lovely Cookerson-loving Fruitloopy. A left over prompt from the drabble prompting game on Tumblr, that turned into a one shot short fic because of my lack of editing skills. Set around the time of England's first test against India, summer 2018.
> 
> The prompt:
> 
> "Jimmy/anyone of your choosing and #24" (You knew who I'd choose... #OTP)  
> Prompt #24: “You’re the only one I trust to do this.”

It was no good.  Jimmy Anderson was stuck.  Not the kind of stuck that put your life in danger, like being stuck in a lift hurtling from the 40th floor.  But the kind of stuck that sent any possibility of feeling even vaguely sexy hurtling in a similar downward trajectory.  Jimmy sighed theatrically, so much so that he lost his balance for a moment, and the instinctive attempt to steady himself sent him crashing onto the hotel bed, face first.  The cool, crisp sheets for a moment soothed his cheeks, burning with anger and embarrassment, as his other cheeks were greeted by the cool breeze from the aircon outlet above the bed.  Jimmy shifted at the odd sensation, and bitterly chastised himself for not putting on any underpants before trying to don a pair of leather trousers.  He embarked on another frantic minute or so of struggling like a seal with an interest in S&M, and then flopped back onto his front and swore expansively into the hotel pillow.  Reluctantly, he reached for his phone.

Jimmy clenched his teeth and berated himself internally as he scanned his thumbprint and the screen lit up.  So much for being the cool, moody, senior player that the younger lads wanted to be like, and the older lads wanted to be with.  Fucking hell, he couldn't even turn Ali's head any more, which had more than likely led him wandering down the ridiculous path that had led him here.  Jimmy would have bellowed with frustration if he thought it wouldn't have attracted unwelcome attention.  He scrolled through his contacts.  Who could be relied upon for discretion in the situation of a senior member of the England cricket team getting stuck halfway into a pair of leather trousers in a bid to quiet a rising midlife crisis?  _Certainly_ not Joe.  Or any Yorkie really, which ruled out Jonny, who Jimmy considered the only one of his teammates who may have tried to get into a pair of leather trousers before.  Stu would probably put it on his Insta story, or unhelpfully mention it when Jimmy was at the top of his run up.  So, unless he traumatised the new kids or Moeen, there was really only one option.

Jimmy sighed shakily, tears of desperation and embarrassment not far from his eyes, and dialled.  The phone rang seven times before it was answered, befitting the technology needs of a man who barely knew what social media was, let alone had an account.

"Hey Jim." came the greeting.  That familiar calming tone, the public school accent ever the more battered by years of sitting in the pavilion at Chelmsford.  Jimmy took a deep breath and started talking before he really know what he was going to say.

"Ali.  I... I need your help.  Something... _bad_ 's happened and I need you to help me out of... something."  He trailed off, mouth suddenly dry, and swallowed hard.  He could almost see Alastair's thick dark eyebrows knitting into a frown of concern, best mate mode and the unshakable remnants of captain mode smoothly clicking into action as Jimmy listened to the background sounds of Alastair Cook getting up from his hotel bed and pacing the floor.

"What's happened, Jimmy?  You sound awful.  Are you OK, mate?" The questions were dripping with earnest concern, which only added to Jimmy's mortification.  He tried to stop his voice shaking.

"No, uh yeah, I mean... Ali I'm OK.  I'm not, like, hurt or anything... well..." he looked down and his crimson skin where the trousers were stuck, "...not much."

"Good... wait, _what_?"

Jimmy felt panic rising.  This wasn't going well.

"Look, Ali, wait a second.  I don't think I can explain this over the phone.  Can you come over here?  I... you're the only one that I trust to do this."

Alastair was at his hotel room door before Jimmy had even thought about how he was going to tackle this situation.  As he levered himself to his feet and, for want of a better descriptor, penguined himself to the door, he grabbed the fluffy white hotel bathrobe from the bathroom and retreated into it shamefully.  As soon as the door opened, Alastair walked past him into the room without a second thought.

"What is it, Jim?  You sounded like you were about to cry on the ph-"

Alastair's eyes, full of concern, travelled from Jimmy's face down his body, to the pair of leather-clad legs protruding awkwardly from the bottom of the bathrobe.  He aborted his sentence abruptly and looked back to Jimmy's face, the tiniest of smiles playing at the corners of his mouth as he gave Jimmy a quizzical look so pure and so comical that in any other situation Jimmy would have doubled over with laughter.

"Ali..." Jimmy silently begged for that smile to stay contained as he unloaded his shameful secret.  "I'm stuck."

Alastair clapped a hand over his mouth, but his broad shoulders wobbled with the strain of holding onto his giggles.  Jimmy closed his eyes and tried to breathe, hit by a wave of embarrassment so strong that he felt dizzy and sick.

Before he knew it, a pair of strong hands were clasped firmly around his biceps, and Jimmy's gloom was lifted for a fraction of a second by how good that felt, like a butterfly fluttering down and landing on his shoulder as he sat at the bottom of his well of shame.  The proximity of Alastair's face made him open his eyes.  The giggles had subsided, replaced by a head shake of kind but bemused amusement.

"I'd ask you why you were putting on leather trousers, but you've just recovered from dying your hair silver, so let's just get you out of them, shall we?"

Jimmy sighed with the relief of not being openly mocked, all of the fight suddenly gone from his body, and rested his head against Alastair's shoulder.

"Yes please." he mumbled.

A quiet and considered appraisal of the problem, punctuated by a fair amount of surprise and a short discussion on the wisdom of not putting on any underwear before attempting to don leather trousers, was followed by a series of physics experiments which involved all manner of wrestling and Jimmy losing most of his leg hair.

As Jimmy lay back, hands clasping the bed rails above his head with Alastair tugging at the leather garment from the bottom end of the bed, Jimmy tried very hard not to think about how much he'd enjoy being ordered about and manhandled on a bed by Alastair Cook, if it wasn't for the intrusion of the evil leather garment.  His mind wandered to the series of occasions they'd crossed that line during their friendship, to how it'd happened less frequently recently, to the perilous territory of what he'd do to Alastair if he still had his mojo and the freedom of his legs.  He looked down the bed to admire the view, all engaged muscles and quiet efficiency, Alastair's tongue peeping out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated.  He caught himself just as his mind paused to muse on that tongue, where it had been, and where he'd like it to be.

_Oh fuck, Jim, think about something unsexy.  Margaret Thatcher.  On the toilet.  Naked._

Jimmy shuddered, the blood pooling in his groin dispersing rapidly.  The tugging stopped.

"Am I hurting you?" The voice from the end of the bed was concerned.

"No!  No... I err... I think you've nearly got it." Jimmy said hurriedly.  He shifted his weight as Alastair tugged one last time, and there was an almighty crash and a squeak of surprise as Alastair Cook and a pair of leather trousers sailed backwards across the room and collided with the wardrobe.

Jimmy sprang from the bed, clad only in the robe, and launched himself at a dazed but triumphant looking Alastair.  He crumpled down beside him and took Alastair's face in his hands, fingers searching through his hair for a bump where he'd hit the wardrobe.

"Oh fuck, Ali, are you alright?" he said, as he found the point of impact and Alastair winced slightly.  But his wince faded into a broad smile, the once familiar look of victory shining in his dark eyes.  Jimmy realised he'd missed that look, and smiled at its return, whatever the ridiculous circumstances.  Alastair held the leather trousers aloft with one hand, and flung them across the room.

"Promise me you'll burn those things." Alastair said, grinning, his other hand finding Jimmy's wrist, as if to move it from the back of his head.  They stayed like that for a beat, smiling at each other, before Alastair folded Jimmy's hand into his and brought it between them.  Their faces were close.  Their smiles faded.

"Jim, why were you trying to put on leather trousers?"  Alastair asked quietly.

Jimmy sighed.

"I'm an idiot," he said with a rueful smile, "And maybe I was trying to get your attention.  What with all the new younger guys in the squad and..." He trailed off, embarrassment returning almost painfully.

"Jimmy." Alastair said seriously, bringing Jimmy's gaze back to his. "You've had my attention for over ten years now."  He paused to sigh.  "I'm sorry.  I've not managed to drop the poker face from all those years as captain, and..." he looked down, "I've not exactly been great with the bat recently so I didn't know if you'd still want to..."

It was Alastair's turn to blush.  Jimmy rested his forehead against Alastair's, wrapping his arms around him as he closed the gap between them.


End file.
